


I wanna be your dog

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek 2009
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-26
Updated: 2011-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU set in the present. Spock is the dog whisperer, McCoy is his cameraman – their latest client is one, Jim Kirk, with an unruly Doberman</p><p>Intriguing snippet: “It is preferable to project calm, assertive energy when in close proximity to dogs,” Spock said in an even tone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wanna be your dog

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the st_respect challenge In the Doghouse

**I wanna be your dog**

In the voice-over booth, McCoy and Sulu watched Spock on the monitor, striding through the hills of LA, staff in hand with thirty dogs following.

“Thinks he’s fucking Moses or something.”

“Direct descendant,” Sulu chuckled, fast-forwarding.

“I _re-habilitate_ dogs. I train _people_ ,” Spock said to the camera.

“I keep telling him to lose the hat; makes him look like a dick,” McCoy muttered, “and he needs to put some emphasis somewhere. _Anywhere_.“

“The guy’s a fucking genius, Leo.” Sulu glanced at the production notes, “So why _are_ you in here?” He moved a post-it and stuck it on the mic stand.

McCoy stretched his legs, sipped his sweet tea and shrugged. Sulu had a point. None of this shit had anything to do with him. He leaned across Sulu, “ _There_ , there was something wrong with the opening scene…” He cleared his throat.

Sulu indicated ‘shush’ and hit PLAY. “This week on the Dog Whisper ,” he read--McCoy felt his groin tighten in anticipation-- “twenty-five year old celebrity restauranteur, James T Kirk, was only too glad to help his Mom out when her work took her across the pond--" There he was, _fuck_ \-- “looks like this foodie’s bitten off more than he can chew.”

Cut to a close up of a snarling Dobermann next to a pair of pale, bare feet hanging off a nubuck couch.

“Come _on_ , Uhura, no. NO!”

Fuck - his _voice_!

“…and now, he can’t stand the heat and needs to get out of the kitchen!” Sulu turned to McCoy, scanned his face,

“ _What_?”

Sulu narrowed his eyes. “You drooling, man?”

“Fuck. _Off_.” McCoy folded his arms, slouched, adjusted the front of his pants.

“Jim Kirk might be pack-leader in the kitchen, but back home he’s definitely someone’s bitch!”

McCoy arched an eyebrow and ruffled Pike’s ears. “Please tell me you didn’t just record that?”

“Well, duh? But there’s heat in more places than that dude’s kitchen - just _look_ at him.”

Kirk sat, legs splayed, in expensive looking jeans and an un-ironed, white t. He was tall, obviously worked out, with electric blue eyes and perfect teeth – goddamned California brat with his winning smile and that fucking _bulge_. In the next frame Uhura unmovable, legs braced, her head thrown back in a lusty bark.

McCoy could hear Sulu chewing gum, Pike licking his ass at his feet. “Shut the fuck up, Hikaru,” he said, trying not to sound pissed, “and _don’t_ say it-“

Sulu chuckled, shouldered McCoy and craned his neck to look him up and down, “You’ve turned! I _knew_ I’d make you see the light!”

“I haven’t ‘turned’, _asshole_ , I’ve had ‘experiences,’ just not in a while…”

“Well, if I’d been married to Jocely--“ a warning glare stopped him. “Anyway, looks like he’s taken,” Sulu tapped the monitor.

Yep, there was Jim Kirk’s Russian boyfriend and sous chef sitting right beside him.

“Business ‘associate,’ my taut ass!” Sulu said air-quoting with four fingers. His cell phone vibrated and he glanced at the screen, “Shit, I gotta take this - back in five.” He stepped over Pike’s body and sprinted down the corridor towards the parking lot.

McCoy rotated his foot. He looked at his watch, leaned back in his chair to see if Sulu was safely out of sight, pushed the door to with his foot and flipped the lock. He picked up the remote control and unbuckled his belt.

“Don’t you say a _fucking_ word,” he hissed at Pike who’d opened one eye. Pike put his enormous, graying head on his paws and pretended to sleep.

+++

The shoot hadn’t been going well. McCoy was finding it hard to concentrate. They’d taken a break from filming while Jim Kirk answered some calls from the Kelvin kitchen. McCoy watched the rushes with Spock.

“It is preferable to project _calm, assertive_ energy when in close proximity to dogs,” Spock said in an even tone.

“Well, I fucking _know_ that,” McCoy groused.

“Especially while filming.“

“Get another cameraman, then, you fug-hat wearing bastard!”

And he actually stormed off the set. McCoy hadn’t done that before.

++

Truth was, earlier, he’d had a stubborn half-boner, thanks to the vision of Kirk in white swimming trunks, fresh out of the pool when the crew arrived. Then, of course, McCoy _had_ to show off his calm-assertive-energy by stroking Uhura. When she went up on her hind legs and licked his face, Jim panicked, lunged forwards and Uhura had snapped at Kirk drawing blood. Looking back, McCoy realized _this_ was the point when he'd lost higher brain function.

"Mr Kirk, Leonard can attend to your injuries. He has medical training," Spock said smoothly, strapping on his roller-blades, “I will take Uhura for some one-on-one .”

Mind-reading bastard and his sadistic, sense of humor.

So when Kirk perched on a bar stool in his white trunks, a towel loose around his infuriatingly taut abdomen, toes clinging to the foot rest, McCoy had tried to breathe _and_ put iodine on Jim’s thumb, but the little bastard wouldn't shut up talking about the week's menu, how he'd ended up with the dog, how he was raised in Iowa. When McCoy wrapped the bandage and they both looked up at the same instant – McCoy had imagined Cupid somewhere in the room flipping the bird at him.

Kirk had finally paused for breath for a precious five seconds, then said, "You don't talk much."

"You more than make up for that," McCoy had snapped.

Kirk leaned towards him and Uhura lifted her great snooty head; somehow she’d decided McCoy needed her protection. McCoy raised his finger and hissed. Instantly her body went slack and she dropped to her side with a contented sigh.

"How the fuck d’you do that?" Kirk said.

"Calm. Assertive. Energy." McCoy wished he could get his cock to lie down this easily.

"You fucking kidding me, man? I've never seen anyone wound so tight."

"I'm pretty loose when I drink. 'Sides, dogs I know. Their owners, that's another thing, specially you pretty boys with more money than sense.“

"Was that you asking me on a date?"

McCoy’s double-take almost tore his neck muscles. "Er… No?"

"That's a shame," Kirk said, sliding off the stool, the towel dropping to the terracotta floor. He looked over his shoulder, "I was hoping you could teach me to Master The Walk."

Like he could teach Jim Kirk _anything_ about walking, McCoy thought, his eyes boring into those perfect ass cheeks.

+++

From the van, McCoy had watched Spock working with Uhura out front while Kirk leaned on the porch rail. Spock had stroked Uhura's neck, nodding. He had his eyes closed, the fingers of his right hand splayed wide over the crown of her head. She sat like an Egyptian burial statue, her eyes locked on Spock’s face. Finally he stood up and went to Jim and, whatever it was Spock said, McCoy saw Jim’s shoulders shake and then he’d nodded and disappeared inside.

+++

 _I’m so messed up, I want you here_ McCoy’s cell phone informed him.

“It's Jim.”

"-"

"Jim Kirk."

"I _know_ who the fuck you are."

"Spock had a great idea – he says you should take me out with the pack. Bring Uhura along so I can practice my ‘leadership skills’."

"Spock usually deals with the _clients_ ," McCoy said, putting an emphasis on the word ‘client’ he was none too proud of.

"He says _you're_ the best man to help me out."

McCoy looked at his unmade bed, the pile of empty beer cans on the table. "When d’he say all that? And, more importantly, _why_?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow? How about it? He says we should meet at 7am - at the Dog Rehabilitation Centre."

"But I walked out…"

"Yeah, but you and me both know you didn’t mean it. I could see you by the van, smoking. By the way, those things will kill you."

"I took 'em up when I gave up drinking."

"You don't drink?"

"I missed it. Went back."

" _Jesus_ , Bones." What the fuck? What did he care? "7am. I'll be there with Uhura."

++

They drove up to the hills in Spock's jeep, ten dogs in the back, all shapes and sizes, including Uhura in a cage and Pike sharing the front seat with Kirk. McCoy rolled his eyes when he saw how Pike licked Jim's hand. Pike always had questionable taste, liked the ones no one else cared for.

++

He was relieved to see Kirk had lost the flip flops, and the kid was tough; he could see that soon as they set off on the hike and the terrain got a little rough and the heat began to rise. This wasn't some feeble pretty boy.

They didn’t speak much. Jim just watching the way McCoy led the dogs, how they got right back in line when he called, barely raising his voice. Kirk’s cheeks were pink when they completed the circle and reached the jeep again. He helped fill up the water bowls from the caddy in the back and they both leaned on the hood and watched Uhura and Pike nipping each others’ ears. McCoy raised an eyebrow when she let Pike sniff her butt.

“She’s telling him her name,” McCoy drawled, taking a long pull on a cigarette.

Kirk smirked then bent over to tie his bootlace glancing over his shoulder at McCoy before brushing off his knee and walking away from the jeep towards a group of trees.

That was subtle.

McCoy stubbed his cigarette on the bumper and tossed it in the poop can.

“ _Stay_.” He told the dogs and followed.

++

“My, you’re a stubborn son-of-a-bitch!” Kirk grazed his teeth along McCoy’s throat.

“Where did you learn to kiss?” McCoy gasped, digging his fingers into Kirk’s ass, “The dog pound?” The tree was sharp against the back of his head and his belly flipped when Kirk fumbled at his fly-button.

“I’m loving trading canine clichés with you, Bones,“ Kirk mumbled against his ear lobe before nipping it gently, then lathing it with long, lazy licks.

“Stop calling me Bones and stop talking, for fuck’s sake.” McCoy could smell the leather of his jacket, could feel his short hair tickling his throat as Kirk unbuttoned his shirt and worked his tongue into the dip of his neck. “What’s your ‘business associate’ going to say about this?”

Kirk pushed back a little and gazed at his face, “Huh?” His eyes hot blue, his lips slick and wanton, “What’s it got to do with Chekov who I get it on with?”

McCoy felt a flicker of hope and wished he had two fingers of whiskey to douse it with but all there was this, Kirk’s tongue plundering his mouth, his hips pinning him to the tree. “I don’t share, I--“

“You’re a one man dog, yeah, I know, it’s written in your puppy eyes.“

“Swear to god, you make one more lame. . . .“ and then McCoy had to stop himself snickering because, after all, that had almost been a growl. “So, you two, you’re not?”

“He works for me.” Kirk shoved McCoy’s t-shirt up under his armpits and dropped to his knees. “And I don’t fraternize.”

McCoy felt the flame of hope leap a little higher. “What did Spock say to you on the porch?”

Jim looked up at him, the beautiful bastard, torturing him with the eyes of a newborn devil, but the way his forehead crinkled up then, it damn near broke McCoy’s heart, “I…, he said…” he ran his hands down the insides of McCoy’s thighs, “…he… he said Uhura, she wasn’t my Mom, that was all; guess he meant I was projecting something that was pissing off her doggy brain.”

McCoy rubbed his ears. “Don’t tell Spock I said this or I might have to kill you, but he’s a smart bastard.”

Jim managed to nod, even with his mouth full.

“Oh, and Jim, I always top.“

“So do I,“ Kirk mumbled.

“We have a win-win scenario, then?” McCoy began a slow rocking movement into Jim’s warm mouth and tried to ignore the muffled chuckles.

Who was he kidding? McCoy had lost this battle for dominance when he’d first clapped eyes on the annoying bastard.

 

~FIN~


End file.
